


snow day

by toxica939



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxica939/pseuds/toxica939
Summary: Because nothing says Christmas like blow jobs and tree trimming.





	snow day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Robron Christmas advent calendar over on tumblr

He wakes up too warm, overheated between the cocoon of the duvet and the hot line of Robert's back pressed against his own. He rolls his top lip up to touch his freezing nose, keeps his eyes closed against the dull morning light. He needs a piss and his t shirt's bunched uncomfortably under his ribs. Fuck.

He rocks back against Robert but doesn't get any more than a grunt in response. He'd quite like to stay right where he is, knows that morning chill will set in as soon as his feet touch the floor. But he really needs a piss.

That's the reason he's up and half way to dressed when Robert rolls over, starfishing across the bed, pink cheeks and mussed hair. “Time'sit?”

“Early,” Aaron says, because it feels early and he hasn't bothered to check his phone yet today.

Robert hums, knuckles at his eyes like a sleepy toddler. “Did the snow stick?”

Aaron gets up to check. It had been just starting last night, when they'd stumbled home from the pub, leaving footprints. Aaron had had little flecks of white melting in his stubble when they'd gotten in and Robert had held him up against the wall, dragged the flat of his tongue across Aaron's cheeks while he squirmed, laughing, trying to get away from Robert's beer breath and wandering hands. They'd scuffled there in the entrance way, kissing and pulling at each other's jackets, until Robert dragged him upstairs.

The novelty of there being no one to stop them isn't something Aaron can see wearing off any time soon.

He peeks through the blinds to a sea of white, gleaming brightness as far as he can see. It's covering everything, stretching up the hill, piled high on walls and cars.

“Don't think we're going anywhere today,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. Robert's clambering out of bed, all legs, shoving up beside Aaron at the window.

“Crikey, it looks like a Christmas card,” Robert says, elbows propped on the window sill.

Aaron ties not to notice the way the cold is pimpling Robert's flesh, raising the fine hairs on his arms. He definitely doesn't sneak a look down at his own husband's nipples. “It is Christmas,” he points out.

Robert hums. He and Aaron have very different ideas about when Christmas actually starts, a side effect of Aaron spending Christmases in the pub, hanging decorations in early November.

Robert looks back at the bed, an inviting pile of body-warm duvet. “We getting up then?”

Aaron eyes him, lets himself look this time, lets Robert see him do it. Robert's nipples _are_ hard and he'll twist away, hissing, if Aaron tweaks at one, so he slides his hands against Robert's ribs instead, draws him in to the warmth of Aaron's chest.

“Doesn't seem much point,” Aaron says. “Nowhere to go.”

Robert's smirking at him now, that lit up twinkle he gets in his eye when he thinks Aaron's playing right into his hands. Aaron leans up to fit their mouths together, share the mint of his toothpaste.

He catches Robert off guard when he shoves him toward the bed, rides him down on to the mattress. Robert always pretends to be surprised when Aaron gets like this, like he thinks it means he needs it less if he doesn't ask for it. It's a good job Aaron knows better.

Robert lets Aaron draw his hands up over his head, fingers loose around Robert's wrists. He doesn't need to be rough with him, that's not how this works. Robert's going to give it up because he wants to, not because Aaron makes him.

Still, Robert's never been the best at falling into line. “This really how you want to spend your snow day,” Robert's asking, flexing his hands to feel Aaron pin him down.

Aaron tips his head, considering. “The first bit, yeah. Might put the tree up later.” Liv's home from uni next week and she'll kill them both if it's not up by then.

“Oh yeah, that's really going to get me in the mood,” Robert scoffs, pulling a face.

Aaron pushes up on his hands, knuckles in the bed. It makes him rise over Robert, forces their hips together, Robert's legs spreading to accommodate him. “You sure about that?”

Robert's eyelids do a little flutter, cheeks heating up. Aaron watches him lick at his lips, watches his teeth rake the bottom one; a nervous little tick Aaron can read like a book.

Aaron ducks down to mouth at the skin under Robert's ear, gratification in the way it tips Robert's head to the side with no effort at all. “You trust me?” he asks, lips dragging against skin.

He feels Robert huff, more than anything, where their bellies are pressed together. “You know I do.”

Aaron lifts to knock their foreheads together, Robert's face nothing but a blur beneath him. Robert gets like this sometimes, stubborn but helpless with it, when he can feel control slipping away from him. It's not a thread Aaron likes to tug at too often, but fuck it, it's Christmas.

It takes him barely any time at all, in the end, to get Robert stretched up toward the headboard, elbows over his head. The pale line of the backs of his arms, patches of sweat damp hair, chest heaving, narrowing to this: narrow hips and the sprawl of his thighs around Aaron's body, cock flushed red, wet at the tip, and pulsing in the loose grip of Aaron's hand.

Aaron curls his fingers, jacks his hand slowly, and uses the flat of his tongue to lick the head clean. Bitter salt in his mouth and the sound of Robert's hand slapping at the headboard, the pained little hisses he's been making getting louder.

“Aaron,” Robert's saying, a whine really, on its way to a complaint.

Aaron uses his free hand to chafe at Robert's thigh. “I know, you're alright.”

He licks at him again, thumbing over his balls. Robert's body twists, teeth snapping together, but he keeps his hands where Aaron put them.

“Please,” it's punched out of him, breathy, easy enough to ignore if Aaron wants to.

He doesn't though, because it's not like that with them, it never has been. He takes Robert deep; long pulls of mouth and throat, tongue rubbing just under the head to make Robert shout. Robert's hips are rolling now, riding Aaron face as much as he can get away with, knees raising to open himself up as much as he can.

Aaron pulls off just as Robert's thrusts start to get erratic, has to bite down on a grin when Robert whimpers out a protest, hips sinking back to the bed. His body's still pulled taut but he knows there's no rushing this, the pace is Aaron's to set.

Aaron looks up the length of Robert again, fingers pressing at his thighs, bleaching flushes skin white and then red again. “You still with me?”

Robert's gasping at the ceiling and for a second, Aaron wants nothing more than to crawl up over him, fit their bodies together until Robert's sightless gaze is drawn back to him. He can't decide, suddenly, if he wants Robert lost to sensation or lost in him.

And then Robert lays his palms flat against the headboard, suffers through a full body shudder that rolls his arse right down into Aaron's waiting hands, more flesh to dig his fingers into. He watches Robert's jaw work, sucks kisses up the flushed length of his cock until he knows there's no way Robert's going to be able to form words.

Aaron takes pity on him when Robert's head starts tossing on the pillow, stomach tensing and untensing with each breath. He opens his mouth over the head again, sucks at it as Robert cries out, keeps going until there's a hand in his hair, stroking blindly. It clenches when Robert comes, shouting and twisting, holding Aaron where he needs him. Aaron swallows everything he can, lets him mouth hang open when he can't any more. Robert's not going to care if he makes a mess.

:::

Robert doesn't care. In fact, after a hot shower and the loan of Aaron's softest hoodie, Robert's pretty much putty in his hands.

“You're sure about this?” Robert asks, surveying the pile of bin liners Aaron's dragged down from the loft. He hands a steaming cup of coffee off to Aaron, who cradles it in both hands.

“We've done it before.”

Robert leans a hip against the back of the sofa, presses the rim of his own cup against his bottom lip. “Not without the creative director.”

Aaron laughs. “I'll tell her you called her that.”

“Good, she'll love it.”

They look back at the bags of decorations. Aaron hasn't got a clue what half the stuff even is. It makes him miss Liv like a punch in the gut.

Robert's arm slides around his shoulders, and his lips are soft against Aaron's temple. “She'll be home soon.”

Aaron nods. “I know. I just,” he shrugs.

“Want it to be right for her,” Robert says. “Me too,” he leans away to put his cup on the table. “Look, I'll make you a deal, if you put the tree up, I'll make mince pies.”

Aaron considers the offer. He hates putting the tree up, but he loves Robert's mince pies. “You're going to make me listen to Christmas music, aren't you?”

Robert smirks. “It's almost like you know me too well.”

Aaron head butts his shoulder gently, presses his face there to hide his sappy smile. “Almost.”

:::

By the time Aaron's slotted the tree together and wrestled it into something approaching vertical, with the help of a folded over piece of card and Robert shouting _bit more, bit more, too far_ from the kitchen, it's gone lunch time.

“I might need your help getting the lights on it,” he says, wandering over to where Robert's using a bottle of wine as a rolling pin. They keep finding things missing from the kitchen, stuff Liv's squirrelled off to uni without asking.

Robert's got a smattering of flour across his front and a sticky smear of mincemeat at the corner of his mouth, because he's the sort of sicko who likes to eat it straight from the jar. Aaron reaches up to thumb it away, sucks his own thumb clean in a burst of sugar and tang.

“Looking good,” he says, nodding to cake tray, each little dip already lined with pastry and filled with a dollop of mincemeat.

“Cheers. You want circles or stars on top?”

“Circles, do it proper.” He's not going to ask why they own star shaped biscuit cutters, because he genuinely doesn't want to know. “Do you want a brew?”

:::

It takes them nearly an hour to get the lights on the bloody tree, because somewhere between the set that doesn't work and the set that only flash at rave speed, Robert has him down the sofa, knee between his thighs and tongue in his mouth.

It's kissing for kissing's sake, not the kind that's going anywhere. The kind that leaves them both flushed, Robert's mouth puffy and hot from the chafe of Aaron's face. The kind that has Aaron feeling sleepy and keyed up at the same time.

Aaron lets himself get lost in it for a while, the rhythm of the kiss, Robert's mouth sugar sweet and wanting.

:::

It's dark out again by the time the tree's done. They've demolished half the mince pies and made the executive decision to leave the angel for Liv to put on top when she gets home.

“I think it looks nice,” Aaron says. He's tucked under Robert's arm on the sofa, feet on the coffee table even though it always hurts his heels in just socks. Robert had insisted they turn off all the lights to really get the benefit of the tree twinkling away by the stairs.

Robert's fingers card through his hair. “It does.”

They look at it for a while longer, Mudd whispering in the corner. There's not going to be anything lonely about this Christmas. Not a thing.

Aaron taps at Robert's leg. “It's still early, we could head to the pub.”

“We're snowed in.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “It's a foot at best. I think we can make it to the pub.”

But Robert shakes his head, tugs Aaron's legs over his lap until Aaron has no choice but to cuddle further into him. “Let's just stay here. I like having you all to myself.”

The feeling's mutual so Aaron draws him down for a soft kiss.

“You're going to make me watch Home Alone again, aren't you?”

He feels Robert chuckle, feels the soft pressure of a kiss dropped to the top of his head. “In a bit.”

They watch the tree sparkle.

 


End file.
